Casebook: A Canadian Killer
by Glass hearts break easily
Summary: A series of one-shots centering around Snapped!Canada and all his exploits.  T for violence, mild gore, language and hinted cannibalism.
1. File 1: I Am Here

_I am here. Really, I am. I promise._

A smile curled his lips as he gripped the handle of the small blade ever tighter.

_I'm always forgotten, you are always forgetting me._

Footsteps down the corridor, the others were arriving.

_I've waited, so long I've waited. For you to remember me._

The door creaked ominously as the rest of the G8 entered.

_I think, perhaps, you need a little reminder. _

As expected, Russia headed straight for him, but he was too fast, dodging out of the way before he could be sat on.

_I know you don't mean to be cruel, but you are. And that makes others cruel._

Once everyone was seated, America rose to talk. And he raised the knife.

_I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to kill you all. You could have stopped this, if you had remembered. It's your own fault._

_I am here. Remember me now?_

_

* * *

_

AN: Well, that was short. Looking back on it now, it's not all that good, is it?

And before anyone gets up in arms about it, this is from my deviantart.


	2. File 2: Having Fun

_Nobody likes you._

He smiled, cruelly, a small chuckle ghosted past his lips. He sharpened the knife, a graceful ringing sound echoed through the kitchen, momentarily bringing an end to the cacophony that had previously filled the room. They would pay for this, they would pay dearly. In the most _delicious_ way possible.

_Everyone left you._

He was alone, always alone. Forgotten. Abandoned. Ignored. Used. Left behind. Naught but a tool, picked up and put down at its masters whim. Once too many times, they had overlooked him, and now they would suffer for it. He wouldn't kill them, not at first. First they had to suffer, like he did.

_They're all out without you._

He could hear them, his 'Papa' was probably loudest of all, that was good, let the man despair, like how he had despaired when 'Papa' handed him to the enemy.

But it wasn't just 'Papa' down there. Oh no, the rest of them were suffering as well. He had seen the 'Hero' cry. He had made the 'Hero' cry. That had been entertaining.

The seven of them were down there, all the other seven members of the G8, the seven whose company he found himself in most often.

All seven of them were screaming, it was a most heavenly sound.

_Having fun_.

He dropped the whet stone; it hit the floor with a loud thunk, commanding silence.

_"Now, who shall we serve first?"_

* * *

AN: This, well, this was different, wasn't it?  
Slightly prouder of this than I am of the other one. It's still not very good though. I abuse italics far too much.  
And yes, Matt is planning on eating them, I'm that fekked up.


	3. File 3: Niemand

_Niemand vroeg_

"Hello, remember me?" A slight pause, as if expecting an answer. "No, I expect you don't. Hardly anyone does, nowadays." Another pause, followed by a slight sigh. "It's such a shame; I was expecting you, at least, to recognise me. I have given you much cause to, over the years."

_En niemand zag _

A slight rustle of cloth nearby, the blindfold fell away. "There, that's better! Now I can see those lovely blue eyes of yours." The room was in shadows, the only light emanating from a worn-out old desk light, spilling poisonous orange on the floor like paint. There was a figure close by, unseen, but felt all too strongly.

_En niemand niemand niemand zei _

"Aahh..."  
"Ssh now, don't speak. Not a word. Don't spoil things, eh?" Footsteps echoed around the room, bouncing off the stone walls and concrete floor, sounding as if there were a whole battalion of soldiers pacing up and down the small space. "No, be silent; let me talk, just for a little while, just for once." A slight, dry, chuckle cracked through the empty air, followed by a gentle huff of air, a small derisive snort. "You are so very good at talking, telling others what to do, giving orders. You make a fine politician and an even better soldier. Are you so good at being silent, though?" Pausing, once more, this time in contemplation. "I am a fair man, however, so I'll allow you one question, before you must be silent." In a dry, cracking voice, his prisoner said "Why? Why are you doing this?"  
And so he told him.

_En niemand voelde _

Numb. That was all he felt. Numb. What else was there to feel? The man before him was insane, that's all there was to it. He was going to die and this madman was going to be the one to kill him. There was nothing he could do about it; the madman had made that quite clear. This was the end. He wasn't scared; it was too late for fear. He wasn't angry either, there was no point getting angry, it would do nothing but expend energy, not that he needed that at the moment. He was just... numb.

_Niemand niemand niemand hoorde _

Silence permeated the room, the occupants having left long ago. Only one left walking. Footsteps, once more, shattered the quiet. "That was..." A pause, searching for the right word, "Entertaining. I expect I ought to do it again some time." The heavy creak of a door, a hole of light appeared in the dark room, casting painful, sharp shadows on the rough floor. A figure, carved in darkness, entered the room, restoring the toxic orange light to the desk lamp. "I'd best clean this mess up. Tch, such an untidy guest."

_Niemand deed _

"I wonder, perhaps, if anyone will notice who's missing?" A slight sigh, and a shuddering of the dark man's shoulders."Heh...Hehe...HAHAHAHAHAHA!" He threw his head back and laughed, long and hard, he laughed 'til his jaw ached and he couldn't breathe properly. Shaking slightly as he calmed, he retreated from the room, not looking back once. The door swung shut after him with a heavy thud, followed by the loud CLACK of the lock sliding into place.

_En niemand niemand niemand vond hem leuk_

"Hey, England!" he called, the older nation paused, half-turning to look at him. He smiled, a gentle smile on the face of a jaguar.  
_"Would you like to come to tea?"_

* * *

AN: For those of us who don't speak Dutch...  
Translations:  
Niemand vroeg (Nobody asked)  
En niemand zag (And nobody saw)  
En niemand niemand niemand zei (and nobody nobody nobody said)  
En niemand voelde (and nobody felt)  
Niemand niemand niemand hoorde (Nobody nobody nobody heard)  
Niemand deed (Nobody did)  
En niemand niemand niemand vond hem leuk. (And nobody nobody nobody liked him)

Very weird, not entirely sure what to think about this one. I...think...I'm proud of it?  
To be honest, all I did was put my fingers on the keyboard and listened to some Dutch punk, then this thing appeared. And yes I had someone in mind for matt to be killing, but I won't tell you who, feel free to guess though!  
(Most all the credit for inspiring me goes to Emurelle on Deviantart)


	4. File 4: All Apologies

An update! At last! The song is All Apologies, by Nirvana...

* * *

_What else should I be?_

"You did this. This was your fault." It wasn't an accusation; it was merely a statement of fact. "You could have stopped this, at any point, you could have stopped this." A heavy sigh, full of resignation, fell from the young man's lips. "But you didn't, you were stupid and selfish and so very very arrogant. You didn't notice, not any of you." He was pacing restlessly, itching to take action, but forced himself to wait; patience was a virtue after all. "It's entirely your fault. You created this. You made me a monster."

_All apologies_

"I-I'm sorr-" A bark of laughter interrupted the stuttering apology, cracking and hollow, it snapped across the senses, almost painful in its harshness. "No you aren't. You don't even know what you're apologising for." He stalked around the terrified group, a predator before his prey. "None of you should apologise. That suggests I dislike what you made me. That would be a foolish and dangerous assumption." He paused; tongue flicking out to wet his lips some. "No, don't apologise to me. Apologise to all the people that are dead because of your inattentiveness."

_What else should I say?_

There was no movement, no one dared even breathe. "Are you all scared of me?" He enquired, looming over his captives. Nothing, no response from anyone. Even that insufferable American had clammed up, which was a relief. "So quiet..." He mused "Does no one have anything to say?" A pause, no answer, not even from the 'Gentleman'. "Tut, tut. How very rude of you all. I do so hate rude people, they are... Abhorrent."

_Everyone is gay_

He stopped in his path around the group, looking down, a slight frown upon his face. "Why don't you smile?" he enquired of the man he was stood before. "Are you not happy? For me? For what you've made of me, your petit lapin?" Silence, then with a weak glare, the trembling man on the floor hissed "You ar' not mai petit lapin." The man's accent was heavy, showing just how much his 'petit lapin' was scaring him. He sighed heavily, shaking his head some, a look of great disappointment on his face. "Oh, but Papa I am. Most certainly, I am. It's just you've never noticed what you'd done to me." A pause, as he drew breath. A wicked smile scrawled haphazardly on his face, twisting his expression into something demonic. "Aren't you proud of me, papa?"

_What else should I write?_

"Do you think the rest of the world will find out about this?" he queried of no one in particular. "Do you think they'll write about it, when it's over? About what happened, to me? About what I did, and why I did it? Or will they forget me again? Perhaps, if I'm generous, I'll let one of you live, to tell the tale." He stood at the window, staring out on a grey, washed out day in a grey washed out town. "I'd hate to fade into the background again, an indistinguishable person in an undistinguished crowd." His back was to the room, so they were unable to see the strange, melancholy look on his face.

_I don't have the right_

"Why?" He mused. "Why is it that I can take lives so easily? Surely, I'm not entitled to, and I refuse to fool myself to such an end." He looked over the group before him once more, eyes coming to rest upon one person in particular. Blue-eyed, blonde-haired vision of perfection, in the opinion of some. But opinions were dangerous, especially when on what made the 'perfect human'. It was an argument he deigned not to enter. "You" he purred to the man, crouching down to be on eye level with him. "You have stolen so many lives, why could you think you had that right? What made it easier than breathing?" The man on the floor just glared. "No answer, eh? I don't feel entirely surprised. It is a difficult question, to be sure. And if I am unable to find a satisfactory solution then it would be doubtful that you may provide one." He sighed and stood once more. "Yet, I suppose it is a different question, with a different answer for you. You've never killed in cold blood before, only ever on orders. And certainly you've never killed another nation."

_What else should I be?_

"Wh-who?" A voice rose from the huddle, timid and fearful, it was naught more than a whisper. He laughed, low and menacing, it echoed through the room. A gun was raised, steady and unwavering. He had no fear.

"You."

'BANG'

They were screaming, all of them, screaming so loudly, blood painted their terrified faces; they were trying to get away. He started laughing, low at first, but quickly descended into insane cackling. They were so scared, like little lambs before the slaughter. It was so funny!

"You... You monster!"

_All apologies_

_"So sorry."_ He said, voice deceptively calm, inside he was screaming with joy. _"But this is your fault."_


	5. File 5: Time To Waste

This one's a bit different, no obvious torture... Which is good, I think? And the song is Time to Waste, by Alkaline Trio.

* * *

_You had time to waste and I'm not sorry,_

"Gentlemen, a moment, if you please." A moment of silence, as the rest of the room turned to face the young man. "I would be honoured if you joined me for dinner tomorrow evening. I am finding the catering quite substandard, and, I'm sure, you all would agree with me on that point."

"It is the only point we can all agree on" came the bored reply. "But yes, I do believe that would be quite enjoyable, I rather think I'll take you up on that offer, Matthew, my boy." He smiled broadly, a slight edge of madness buried deep within it. "Perfect" he purred, before slinking out of the conference room, already making preparations.

_Such a basket case, hide the cutlery._

"Maaaatt!" Oh dear god that whiny voice was irritating, but he'd put up with it for the moment. "Matt, you promised it be just us! That's not fair, going and inviting everyone else like that!" he sighed heavily, shaking his head some, fervently wishing that things would move faster simply to stop that incessant whining. "W-Well, it's rude to invite you and not everyone else. Anyway, it'll be fun; I haven't seen the others in such a long time." He offered his most brilliant smile at his guest, who sighed heavily and nodded. "If you say so Matt." The man mumbled despondently. A light laugh escaped his lips, "hey, how about I fix you some pancakes, to make up for it?" The taller blonde whooped with joy. "Awright! Mattie's pancakes!" Another slight chuckle fell from his mouth, deeper, more menacing this time. "I'm glad you're exited, my pancakes are to die for, after all."

_I had time to kill, it's dead and buried._

"Tell me, comrade, what is in this? It is a meat I do not recognize." He laughed some, the memory of what had occurred the day before coming back oh so suddenly. "Well, Russia, my friend, if I told you that I'm afraid you'd quite refuse to try it." This got polite laughter all round, before one of the group spoke up. "'Tis quite a shame L'Amérique could not join us." He sighed somewhat, a small frown creasing his forehead, "Non, papa, I do not think that this is the sort of thing Alfred would enjoy, he has never been one to attend dinner parties." France hummed slightly before nodding in agreement, "you ar' right of course, Mon petit lapin.'E is rather boorish, I admit." A slight snort of disdain from the man sitting opposite, "Rather boorish?" he inquired, a certain measure of incredulity in his voice, "I believe you mean incredibly churlish, Francis, old chap." There was another round of laughter from the group. His smile had knife edges in it. "Eat up, do. I am eager to get to the main course, it's rather... Spectacular"

_You've got guts to spill but no one trustworthy._

His guests were leaving, chatting amicably amongst themselves, "Russia" he called, the larger nation paused, turning back to face him. "Да, comrade?" A small chuckle escaped his lips; he beckoned the larger man back into his house.

_"Tell me, Russia, can you live without a heart?"_


	6. File 6: God Save the Queen

Oh _dear,_ looks like Iggy's gone dun popped his clogs! The song, as always, is God Save the Queen, by the Sex Pistols.

* * *

_God Save the Queen_

"Oh god. Oh god! Help! God, someone help me!" The shrill cries broke the silence, shattering it like flimsy glass. "Help! Oh god, help! Help me! Please!" hysterical sobs permeated the air, saturating it in salty tears. "Why do you cry for the lord? You are not Christian. You are not religious at all." The bored drawl cut through the crying like a hot knife through flesh; not butter, butter didn't require such a dangerous edge. "Why? Why pray to a god you do not believe in? Why ask for divine intervention from one you claim not to exist?" He was pacing before the sobbing man, lecturing him in a cold tone of disdain. "It is always the same. From everyone, they all think that even if they have no faith, the moment they are in distress, the lord will save them simply because they asked nicely." He sighed heavily, shaking his head some. "You are a fool." A simple statement of fact, causing his captive to freeze. "You are a pompous, arrogant fool."

_We mean it, man_

"Wh-what will you do with me?" It was a quiet question, whispered in fearful terms with a barely there voice. "You deserve death." Was the calm reply, "however, I have something more…Exciting…In store for you. You will become my greatest masterpiece." A small, deranged laugh slipped from his mouth, a crazed glint in his eye. "You-you've killed before?" The green eyed man held some incredulity within his terror. A small derisive snort, "of course I have, they were all beautiful, but you… you are something special. You will become a true work of art. My best work, as well, perhaps, as my last."

_We love our Queen_

He smiled, razor-wire stretched across his face. Oh how he was enjoying himself, crimson flowed down his arms, a few small drops landing upon his visage, only broadening his smile. This would be spectacular, his finest work to date. He half-turned to the lifeless body beside him, "I'm so sorry, but, it had to be done. I needed some more red paint. Be honoured that you were sacrificed for the greater good. Besides, I love you all the more for it. You were so very interesting, right up until the end." As expected, there was no response. He sighed heavily, shaking his head some, before licking the small droplets of red from his lips. "So sad. So very sad. Oh, how such love can be destroyed with but a few brush strokes."

_God saves_

'Twas early morn when next they saw his art. There were screams, such beautiful screams, a most befitting soundtrack to accompany his masterpiece. Crimson decorated the room, there would be no conferences held there for a long time. He smiled as he gazed upon his creation, only barely registering the others as they stood beside him. His smile turned cold as he heard, absently, the sound of someone gagging. That wasn't the right reaction, they weren't supposed to be ill, they were supposed to be in awe. It was decided, this would not be his last masterpiece, not until the critic had been dealt with. Eventually, when they were herded out by the police, he slowed to walk beside his dissenter.

_"Tell me, Japan, do you believe in god?"_


	7. File 7: Sleep

Another one! And so soon! Aren't you lucky! The song is Sleep, by My Chemical Romance. But I'm sure you already knew that, right?

* * *

_A drink for the horror that I'm in_

The large man came to slowly, groaning and blinking sleep from his eyes. "Ah! You're awake!" The cheerful voice ripped though his head, sending lances of pain deep into his mind. "Shut up." he growled, trying to look as menacing as possible, which was proving surprisingly difficult. Much to his surprise, the owner of the high spirits did not back off, nor did he dissolve into a quivering heap of apologies. Instead, he strolled forwards, smiling. "You are in no position to be telling me what to do, _Komrade_." There was a light laugh, followed by a slight metallic scraping noise; someone was opening a bottle of something. It was then that a most pleasant scent washed over him, Vodka. "Would you like a drink, _Komrade_?" But he wasn't even given a chance to reply, if he had, he definitely would have replied in the affirmative. "No? I'm not surprised, given the circumstances. I rather think you'd want to keep a clear head." A slight laugh, though what was amusing was not entirely obvious. "I hope you don't mind if I take one for myself? I don't often partake; I hardly ever get the opportunity." Footsteps, pacing round the room; not restlessly, no, more sedate, as if their owner was merely taking an afternoon stroll. "You are not in a good position, _Komrade_." And indeed he wasn't, his wrists and ankles were clapped in thick shackles, attached to the concrete walls by even thicker chains. There was no chance of escape. "Do you know where you are, _Komrade_?" He swallowed thickly, shaking his head, desperately wishing himself away from this madman. "You are in my abattoir, _Komrade_."

_For the good guys and the bad guys_

"You are a problem." He stated calmly, pausing before the captive man. "You speak too much and you make everyone so very tense. You are so intimidating, you scare the whole world; we are always telling everyone that we must walk on eggshells when talking with you. We are all so terrified you might do something that we never do anything ourselves, and I'm fed up of it." He sighed heavily, shaking his head despondently. "Yet, I can never truly resent you, even with your endless pissing contests and how you are so terribly cruel to everyone." The prisoner sounded his disagreement somewhat. "Oh, you never intend to be cruel, no, it's not ever intentional. But you are, you are so very cruel, and that makes everyone else cruel." he sighed heavily; the man was so childlike, so very naïve, in contradiction to his decidedly adult body he had the mind of a selfish toddler who didn't know the difference between right and wrong. "No, I could never resent you. But that doesn't make you any less of a problem, I'm afraid. And problems must be dealt with, after all."

_For the monsters that I've been_

"Do you know, they know who I am, and what I'm doing? The police, I mean. And they do nothing about it?" He gave a small laugh; it stung the man, as if he had been slapped across the face. "There is nothing they CAN do. Who would see them arrest their own country? And on what charges? Mortal laws only apply to mortal people. You know this, don't you? We are above the law, because we are the law." Another light laugh, it had razorblades hidden in it. "Not that the law could help you. You know, they call me a monster, because they have no other name for me."

_Three cheers for tyranny, unapologetic apathy_

"You've done so much, in this life. But, I think, perhaps, it is time you took on the next great adventure. Да, _Komrade_?" A quiet laugh, he smiled at the other, the madness that clouded his eyed clearing for but a second, showing a cold hard centre of sanity. The elder gulped, he was dangerous; he had gone through insanity and come out the other side. There was nothing left of the boy he thought he knew, or maybe there had never been anything to start with. Suddenly the boy's face became terribly blank, he looked painfully bored. "You are such a dull little person, once you have your terror taken from you. You are so dull; I'm almost inclined not to kill you." He gave a light sigh, shaking his head some. "I could leave you here for the night and do it in the morning." He mused. "But that would merely be delaying the inevitable, so there is no point to it." His smile had returned once more, stretching and twisting his face in the most unnatural of ways. "Goodbye, _Komrade_."

_'Cause there ain't no way that I'm coming back again._

And that was that, it was an end to it all. The fear was gone, there was no more fear, there was nothing to be afraid of, not anymore. No overbearing shadow at your shoulder, no boogeyman in the closet, no hulking creature lurking in the corner. Not that there was nothing to be afraid of, it was just that there was one big worry gone from the world. And he smiled down upon them all, from on high, and he noted that there was another… Problem to be dealt with.

_"America, would you like to sleep at my house during the next G7 summit?"_

* * *

This is... Well, this just is. Full stop.  
There is no excuse for this other than that I was mostly pished at the time. It was mostly a monologue, which I don't particularly like. And dear god I abuse _italics_ so fekkin' much in this!  
I mostly ran out of ways of describing Matt's insane smile, 'cause I try and avoid using the same description in each if my stories.  
And I nicked 'going through madness and out the other side' from Terry Pratchett, for which I apologise profusely, but I was running out of ideas.


	8. File 8: Blood On The Ice

Hi FF, long time no see, eh? enjoy! The song is Killer by The Hoosiers; to my shame...___  
_

* * *

_Blood red lips, they shake like leaves_

"You are so beautiful when you're terrified." It was a simple statement, it could almost be said to be complimentary, but it chilled the man to the bone, almost as much as the ice he was pressed against. It started so simply, it had just been a friendly hockey match, that was all.

Just a hockey match.

He had tried to steal the puck, but, during the brief embrace, the boy had leaned in and murmured _"Do you think I'm dangerous?"_ And that had been it; he had thought nothing of it, 'til after the game. The boy had approached him in the dressing room, asking him to come back, onto the ice again. Said he had something to say, and it had to be there. Curious, the larger man had followed, and somehow, they ended up like this. He was pinned to the ice by ice picks and the deranged boy was stood over him, holding what appeared to be skate blades. "You know" the boy said, conversationally, "the only time I can be truly free is out here. On the ice. Where it's just you and me, on this floor of diamonds, fighting over a beautiful black jewel. It's marvellous, don't you think?" His laughter echoed through the stadium, hollow and cruel, the true sound of madness.

_You're flesh and blood, but what's underneath? _

"Tell me, do you know what the inside of a human looks like?" The man shook his head desperately, terrified of what his captor would say next. "Really? Neither do I. I expect we'll have lots of fun finding out together then, won't we?" Another cruel laugh, as he approached the trapped man. His tongue darted out and licked the blade in his hand. "Well, do you know how sharp a hockey blade is?" Again the man shook his head, gazing fearfully up at the other. "It's _deadly_ sharp, my friend." He smiled, teeth like knife edges glinted in the fluorescent lights of the rink. He stooped, dragging the blade across the ice, leaving a deep groove in its wake. "I had this one sharpened specially for you."

_I conduct fear like electricity_

Screaming. There was so much screaming. It was perfect. Blood stained his diamond floor, freezing in such beautiful patterns. The other man was so scared! So very terrified. It flowed through his veins, filling him with such a wonderful sort of adrenaline; he brought down the blade again, again, again. He didn't think he would ever stop, not now, not when it felt this... _**Good**_...

_A man made monstrosity_

"It wasn't my fault." he murmured, trying to reassure himself. "It wasn't my fault." He repeated, slightly louder this time. "I'm not a monster. I'm NOT a monster." It was like a mantra, running round and round his head. People had found out, they had found what he had done, only they were blaming it on a fictional human killer; they called it monstrous, what he had done. But he wasn't a monster, was he? He was just having fun. It wasn't his fault, he had been challenged to a game of hockey, and he didn't lose hockey matches, after all.

There was a knock at the door, answering it; he saw that it was just his brother, probably around to ask for food of some description.

_"Hey, Mattie! Wanna play hockey?"_


	9. File 9: Love For Fire

The song this time is This Could Be Love, by Alkaline Trio._  
_

* * *

_I don't blame you for walking away_

"I expect you know what this is." the younger man smiled, it seemed to flicker, eerie in the moonlight. "You _do_ know what it is, yes?" The other shook his head slightly, struggling to cry out through the gag. "Why, it's one of your oldest traditions. Everyone knows that you jump over a fire to be married." The boy was pacing now, not franticly, more as if he was lecturing his captive. "And tonight you are to wed the earth." His dancing smile turned dangerous. "Tell me, do you know why I'm doing this?" Another frantic shake of the head. "You left me. You simply walked away. I was so alone, you abandoned me. Everyone always abandons me. But now, now there is no way you can leave me, not now, not ever!" A cruel laugh tore from his lips, rending the air; it terrified the elder man, chilling him in a way he had not felt since the allies had discovered the concentration camps.

_I've got a book of matches_

He strolled over, not worried in the slightest, the other man was bound tight. The gag was ripped off, falling gently at his feet. "I ought to thank you, really. You were the one that made me fight so, and you are the one who, excuse the pun, kindled my love of fire." The elder man watched him warily as he started to pace once more. "It is such a beautiful thing, fire. So powerful, yet benevolent, it warms us and destroys us. You know, brother told me once, that you, yourself, are like fire. Wonderful, from a distance, but stand too close and people get burned. I rather think that description would be more fitting applied to me, don't you think?"

_I've got a can of kerosene_

"I will release you. There is no way of doing this otherwise. And there is no running from this, you **will** be married tonight." And with that, he cut the ropes; the man, now free, started running. "You can run from the fire, if you want, but the fire will run to you." He moved slightly, dropping an unseen match onto the dry grass; a fire sprang up, the wind pushing it towards the disappearing man. The flickering smile was back,

"Leap knave, Jump whore. Be married now for ever more!"

_I've got some bad ideas involving you and me_

It was over. The flames had died long ago, the grass had grown again and the bones were lost in the night. "It was a most beautiful wedding, truly spectacular." He murmured quietly, strolling across the field, he could still see the scorch marks, if only faintly. "Theirs was a happy union that will never end." His musings were interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing; someone was jogging along the path close by. Looking up, he was surprised to see a very familiar face. France, in a stylish light blue tracksuit, the man was trying to get in shape for the Olympics in a few months time. "Papa!" He called, jogging over to the track.

_"Tell me, papa, can you out-run the fire?"_


	10. File 10: Cute Without The E

The song's Cute Without The E, by Taking Back Sunday._  
_

* * *

_Hoping for the best just hoping happens_

It was so cold, the wind howled around them; tearing at their clothes, driving knives of freezing air into their exposed skin, the snow glowed in the moonlight. "!" The elder of the pair's voice was lost to the frozen sky. "We're right out on the tundra now!" The young blonde yelled back. "There's no settlements for miles!" A laugh, low yet seemingly louder than anything else, echoed across the icy landscape. "No one comes up here, not even in hunting season!" The man kneeling at his feet whimpered some, prayers falling from his numb lips like a waterfall of hope.

"There is no God here. It is too wild here even for him. _Here be dragons._"

_A thousand clever lines unread on clever napkins_

"You are a fool. You are the worst kind of fool; you are the fool who believes so strongly in his intelligence that others start to believe it too." He glared, fury, ice-hot burned into the other man. "You are such an attention grabbing buffoon, you are completely... _execrable."_ There was silence, save from the howling wind. The younger spoke after a long time, "Do you wish to know? To understand?" Another slight pause, even the wind seemed to still, total quiet permeated their little world."No, no, I suppose not. You never were one to try and understand anything, really."

_I will never ask if you don't ever tell me_

"I-I want to..." The dry, cracked voice broke the hush that had descended once more. "I want to understand, let me try and understand, please." And all of a sudden everything was back, the wind, the cold; that one crystal moment, where everything was calm, shattered. And the laughter was there as well, overriding the sounds of the frozen wasteland. "_No"_ The word was but a whisper, yet it stung as if it had been yelled. "No. You could never understand. You have never been overlooked, not once. No one has ever passed you over in favour of someone else; you have never had your achievements credited to another. You could never understand. Do not ask again. It will not change anything." The kneeling blonde, icy tears in his cornflower eyes, looked up into the face of a madman; and smiled sadly.

"_I'm sorry, I am so, so, sorry."_

_I know you well enough to know you never loved me_

He had cried, right at the end, the fool had cried. He had cried, so much, he had cried, and apologised; over and over, he had apologised. He had cried love, hoping for mercy. '_I have no mercy'_

And then there was silence, beautiful, everlasting silence. The fool had joined the ranks of the dead on his private hunting grounds. The snow had quickly claimed him as its own, covering his crimson painting, taking him, never to be seen again. No one asked, no one noticed. He had died on a hunting trip; that was all, it wasn't uncommon, it wasn't unusual, just bad luck.

"_Have you seen the snow at midnight? They say it glows crimson."_


End file.
